Dark, the refuge...

The robin's alarm and the crow's rude cackle are all to be sensed...

The world still sleeps, except for the birds of pre-dawn...

So complete is the darkness here, no laws exist, no rules of thumb...

No principles that explain.

Line these windows with heavy canvas to keep out the expected sun...

The chairs, table, books on shelves all melt and blend into this dank space...

The sense of nothingness actually humbles...

Movements are tentative and groping...

When the sun rotates high to bathe us all, we will move fast and graceless...

We will make our lists and finish tasks, greet others....

Humans in motion.

We will raise money and steal it, we will find lovers and reject them...

We will sing and sob...

We will wear down the already trodden paths, and avoid others...

The existance we have constructed lays exposed, calls us with a familiar tune...

But now, here, assimilated with the dark brown humps and shapes of the room...

Here the mind runs free, unwilling to feud with imagination...

The lightless place gives possibilities a chance to fly...

There is no order and the chaos has no shape...

We all dance.

We swing in a quiet flow that defies the conventions of the lighted time...

Only the chattering noise of perched birds intrudes, actually dominates...

But it's fine, as we float on a sea of unknown form and time.